dry and blown like dust since we were young
by black-ostias
Summary: tumblr ficlets for our marvelous ot3, sometimes based around this universe: s/10337726/1/our-bodies-twist-like-shoelaces-and-we-never-came-untied ; sometimes around canon too.
1. golden

**lazy wakings-up domesticity.**

* * *

You were never one for lounging about in bed after you've woken up, even on weekends and days off. Most of the time you never got to sleep at all, always tensed for Merle trying to lay his filthy socks across your face, or your father using your head as a bull's eye for his beer cans. So a good night's rest was never in the cards for you, and you were fine with that.

But in this cramped room on a mattress of two beds pushed together, with Michonne's arm heavy around your waist and Rick's gentle snores filling the silence, you've never felt more at peace in your life.

You shift as slowly as you can onto your side, hoping not to disturb Michonne, but she's just as attuned to change as you are. "Where d'you think you're going?" she murmurs, her eyes still closed but her hand firm around the shell of your hip.

"Just gotta take a leak an' check on Peanut," you tell her, squeezing her arm once in reassurance. "I'll come back."

"You better," she huffs, then promptly flops the other way to make Rick her new pillow, her head fitting into his shoulder. Rick doesn't stir at all, save for the way his hand creeps up to rest against her back.

Andre is face-down in his bed, his little socked feet peeking out from the ends of the covers. You tuck the sheets over them, and three seconds later he kicks them up again, like clockwork.

You laugh softly, never failing to be amused by your kid's antics. "Have it your way, bud," you tell him, and duck down to rub your nose against his curls. The corners of his mouth twitch up in a smile, softened by the glow of his nightlight, and your can't help the flush of pure joy you feel at that.

Michonne's hand tangles in yours when you rest it on her stomach, Rick's knuckles against your cheek, and for the first time that you can remember, you fall right back into sleep again.


	2. old&new

**operation rick in fancy panties is a go. love it so much i might write more of it.**

* * *

It's mere rote, going by the lingerie section to get to the duffel bags, but something in your face must have given you away because Michonne hooks her fingers in your belt and asks, voice pitched soft and perfectly low, "Which one do you like?"

You restrain yourself from overreacting, plaster on a playful smile. "For you?"

"For _you_," she murmurs, tipping her chin to rest it on your shoulder. Her mouth is laughing, but her eyes are ripping out the breath from your lungs with every steady second.

(—because there's a big possibility that Carl was conceived when you, as a little joke, were wearing the sea-foam green bra and panties you bought Lori for your anniversary, and she kept giggling the whole time, whispering _you look hotter in this stuff than i do_ as she kissed her way up your chest—)

A dull flush creeps up your cheeks, and you stammer, "I – I don't think that's a good –"

"I know of only other person 'sides me," Michonne cuts across coolly, giving you half a cheshire cat grin, "who'd kill to see you all dolled up."

You both settle for black tight mesh panties with matching stockings, the least ridiculous of the whole lot. But you still can't help feeling nervous about it that night, until Michonne bats your sweating hands away to unbutton your jeans, a gift being unwrapped under Daryl's heavy gaze.

He actually turns a worse shade of red than the one you're wearing. "Wow," he says, over and over like his chest is caving in. Michonne laughs, steps behind you to scatter kisses down your neck, wrap arms around your waist. You're utterly grateful for the support, because by the time Daryl gets to his knees and slides his mouth over the soft fabric, you can barely stand at all.


	3. change

**michonne and daryl teaming up to get rid of the animal growing on rick's face. this is the only way it should happen, yo.**

* * *

The knife slides up Rick's cheek, and he makes a soft sound, lips parting the slightest bit but he doesn't move. You smile at Daryl's similar glazed-on expression over Rick's shoulder, your fingers following the pale skin left behind. "Tip his head back," you tell Daryl, and he shifts, jostling Rick momentarily from his lap, fists a hand in Rick's curls to bare Rick's throat, his hummingbird pulse. Rick glues his back to Daryl's chest with a strained laugh.

"You two are gonna kill me."

"Poor choice o' words," Daryl rumbles, his other hand securing Rick's hip, and he smirks at you wiping the foam from the blade with a towel.

You laugh and step between their legs again, Rick's hinged over Daryl's, both their shoes scuffing the dust on the long-unused bathroom floor. "Of the three of us, which one actually relies on a sharp object the most, and is even pretty good at it?" you remind them.

Rick huffs, smiling as you touch the side of his neck again, angling your aim. "It's Daryl's knife."

"I ain't ever used it like this, though," Daryl says, the bottom dropping out of his words, lips against Rick's ear and the poor boy shudders, grip going white-knuckled on Daryl's knees.

"Don't tease him or I'll nick an artery," you say, playfully scolding, and they stay still long enough for you to clear Rick's jaw, his chin, the beginnings of his throat. This time your lips brush against the newly exposed skin, breathing out delicately, enough for Rick to bite his lower lip raw, for Daryl to mutter curses, and all the filthy things he's going to do to the two of you once this is done.

You finally (finally!) set Daryl's knife aside and touch your fingertips to Rick's mouth. He breathes out against them, hot and damp and wanton, and you're now restless enough to kiss him, his cheek smooth against yours. Tinges of shaving cream are bitter between the two of you, but it hardly matters.

Rick blinks at you shyly once you part, made decades younger by his beardless face and by the uncharacteristic action, and Daryl loves it more than you do, if such a thing were possible.

"As pretty as the day we met," he croons, and you snicker when Rick both punches and kisses him in the same breath, all your troubles washed away, even if it's just for a little while.


	4. change v2

**in response to a tumblr prompt ( post/99658432841/but-what-if-michonne-is-the-first-one-to-see-clean) that i refuse to live down.**

* * *

Rick is a changed man without the beard, made less careworn without the grey to frame his jaw, and his smile is more visible when he pads around Alexandria's streets, nodding politely to the ladies giggling behind their hands, to the kids kicking around a soccer ball and yelling _hi sheriff_.

Nowadays the only thing that gives him cause to fret is Daryl.

He's becomes abruptly terse with both Rick and Michonne, constantly finding excuses not to be left alone with either of them, much less when they're together. It's a maddening mystery, since their group is too closely-knit, too intimate to hold grudges or guard secrets, not unless it's _—_

And of course it's Michonne who figures it out, who gets them both to corner Daryl in their communal house when everyone else has gone. It's mesmerizing, watching Michonne lean into Daryl with her fingers curling soft around the back of his neck, rendering him frozen stiff as she says, like she's inquiring about the weather, "Are you jealous of Rick or are you jealous of me?"

Daryl doesn't answer, can't seem to, not when the man in question is standing just beside them, and Rick involuntarily tightens his hand on Michonne's hip when Daryl glances at him with a quietly intense hunger, the same bubbling mixture in Rick's on chest.

"Or maybe you don't want to choose_," _Michonne decides, and there's no disguising how Daryl goes red to the tips of his ears, stammering and trying to withdraw and so Rick goes in for the kill:

"Neither do we."

Rick kisses him then, elated at the sensation of Daryl's beard scraping the smoothness of his cheeks, and Daryl makes an odd choked sound, the chasteness of the initial press dissolving into a nipping, _desperate_ mess, and Michonne is smirking once daryl pulls away only to kiss her next, fumbling and overwhelmed and he groans against her collarbone, "i don't know how this goes."

_"_We'll figure it out," Rick murmurs into his ear, gluing himself to Daryl's back and in turn pressing him more into Michonne's body. They're crowded together in an empty hallway and Daryl's neck is newly clean under Rick's teeth, Michonne's mouth fallen open and cursing and Daryl is laughing and —

They fall into place. Finally.


	5. bright

**kaledanvers on tumblr asked for h/c. after the midseason finale's catastrophe, this thing was mandatory.**

* * *

Daryl can't stand it: the pity in Ford's eyes, the broken slump of Carol's shoulders, the stunned shape of Carl's mouth, the. The unadulterated pain in Maggie's smothered sobs late in the night, and regret piles up like rotting wood in his mind, shuttering away the dawn.

This is all his fault. All of it.

Michonne and Rick refuse to believe otherwise, no matter how much he tries to tell them. Daryl's gone so far as to call Michonne a bitch, and take a wild swing at Rick, but they still won't leave him alone.

i don't deserve you, he wants to scream at them. and you don't deserve a piece of shit like me.

But a week after Grady, the sun long gone and Daryl huddled away from the main campfire, Rick comes up to him with Judith in his arms, a failsafe against any potential violence. Michonne follows not much later, neither of them bothering for subtlety, just pressing against him like it's their place. Daryl tries to be pissed but his glare has gone tepid on the both of them; they've built up a resistance to his defensive barbs and rough edges (and it shouldn't be this way, god it shouldn't be, everyone he's ever loved for dies at his hands in the end).

"The hell d'you want," he says, a little too loud, and a slow blink is Michonne's first response, then, "Judith's missed you. We all miss you."

Rick slips his fingers through Daryl's hair, snagging and soothing, and Daryl's body betrays him, slumps further into the conditioned touch. "Don't disappear on us," Rick sighs. "None of this was your fault. Maggie knows that, we all know that. Except you."

"Ain't nothin you can say that's gonna change the fact that it's my fuckin fault," Daryl reminds them, brittle and cutting. "So y'might as well stop."

"That's not the point," Michonne says, her voice a sharp hiss, and Daryl stares at her, feeling illogically hurt. She sighs and laces her hand with his. "You can't save everyone. That's the way things are. It doesn't make you any less of a good man."

Daryl exhales, wanting to cut her off, but she continues, "And it doesn't matter if you deserve us- you do, okay, of course you do- but it doesn't matter because we're here to stay." She smiles, sad and fond, and parrots him, "Nothing you can say's gonna change that."

There are no words, after that. There's no need for them anymore. Judith squirms, burbling demands to be carried, and Daryl props her on his lap. Rick settles his head against Daryl's shoulder, Michonne running a feather-light nail across the pads of Judith's feet to make her laugh.

This is forgiveness like he's never witnessed it before, and for once the tears rising to Daryl's eyes have nothing to do with grief.


	6. slices

**little **unrelated **thoughts, in no particular chronological order.**

* * *

Michonne has painted toenails, a nice bright red. It wasn't her idea but Daryl's, who wanted to do something nice for her. Rick tried a hand in painting them but his strokes weren't as neat as Daryl's. Her nails ended up being unevenly done but Michonne appreciates their efforts anyway.

(just like she appreciates Rick gently blowing on the nails so they'd dry, his breath a touch too hot)

(just like she appreciates Daryl kissing his way up her calf, the inside of her thigh, the curve of her hip)

(and after all and everything, when Daryl got up to pull on his pants and cursed when he realized that Michonne's nails had been ruined by their enthusiastic…_activities_, she just buried her face in Rick's chest to smother her laughter, and that, she loves the most)

* * *

For all that Rick is no shrinking violet when it comes to sex, he's just not sure of what to do about this, this gnawing ache inside him for two people at once. Because let's be honest, Lori's probably the only one in his life he's ever been with, and all of a sudden he finds his heart racing whenever Michonne smiles at him or whenever Daryl's lips purse around his cigarette and —

And they both notice, how could they _not_, and they both want to drag it out that much longer if only to see more of the helpless flush on Rick's face whenever the three of them are stuck in one place together. But see, Michonne, Daryl, they're all about seeing chances and taking them, because there's no room for what-ifs in a world like this

(and so witness Daryl on his knees with his mouth on Rick's stomach and Michonne showing Rick how to work his fingers inside himself so they can both fuck him and Rick can't speak anymore, he knows nothing but their names and please, _please please please_—)

* * *

Daryl and Rick do rock-paper-scissors to determine who gets to go down on Michonne first, and Michonne just laughs at them through her fingers. More often than not, Rick plays dirty by murmuring _you can open me up while i do it_ and then it's a different kind of race completely, on who makes who come first.

(more often than not, they're a connected circuit, an open flame with their desire blending and flowing through each other without barriers; they're at their most beautiful in their togetherness)

(more often than not, Daryl and Rick both go down on Michonne at the same time, and that's beautiful too; Daryl ends up slipping his tongue into Rick's mouth rather than inside her, but she doesn't care)

(what matters is that they're together. always.)

* * *

After they get to the church, Carl is cuddling Judith on his lap when Daryl shuffles towards him and asks haltingly, "Can I hold her?"

Carl looks so surprised by the question, tells him, "you don't have to ask that," hands her over with such a simple yet deeply profound act of trust and love. And Rick watches the whole thing with his heart in his throat because Daryl is kissing his baby's head and cooing _hey lil asskicker, we've been missing you_ (and looking over at Rick with a painfully shy half-smile).

And Michonne digs her fingers into Rick's hip and says, all smug and contented, "Told you he wants you. So when are we taking him to bed?"

* * *

Because Rick looks at Daryl like he's the moon, the ground under his feet, his anchor to the good still left in him, and at Michonne like she's the sun, the last living flame on the horizon, everything he'll ever want to aspire to and be good for. Rick may be the leader but he'd be lost without these two, his world would have been bleak and airless without them, all three of them need each other.

(God, let them keep each other.)

* * *

Imagine a night where there's moonlight enough for one to see Michonne and Rick, tucked in a secluded corner and taking all pleasure where pleasure is due, and Daryl is the helpless voyeur, the heel of his hand against his pants and biting his lip bloody trying to keep the sounds in, and Michonne stills completely above Rick and hums into his ear, "He's watching us, you know."

And Rick just blows out a breathless laugh, hands clawing at Michonne's hips: "We gotta make it good for him, then. Ask him to join us next time."


	7. remember

**an anon asked me on my sideblog: "Am I the only one who wants Michonne and Daryl to take turns sitting on Rick's newly shaven face? Is it just me?"**

**OH SWEETHEART. you're not the only one. and why yes, the title is also this week's ep's title, because i'm a lazy platypus that way.**

* * *

"I've never seen your face like that," Michonne says, that little sideways smile of hers growing with every second she stays looking at Rick's newly bared face. You probably aren't faring any better; you can feel your face and neck heat up seconds before your belly does.

Rick rubs at his jaw, almost-but-not-quite shy, his mouth a lot redder than you remember it being, and already you're imagining pressing him down against one of these new beds, clambering up his body to tilt his mouth open against your hipbone, your groin, _lower_—

Or of Michonne closing her teeth on Rick's earlobe and grinning at you as she lifts herself up so Rick can lick into her just how she likes it—

a low sound escapes you when the knock on the front door breaks the moment, your hand flying to the knife on your belt. So much for getting a breather.

But then you see Michonne's shoulders tremble with laughter as rick uneasily takes in Deanna's compliments, and you soften ever so slightly. You have more time now.


	8. triumph

**i had written this after 5.07 thinking everyone would be alive and happy. this is how far i got when the midseason finale smashed all my predictions. story of my life.**

* * *

The bruises around Daryl's neck have gone livid, thick purple fingermarks where the life was nearly crushed out of him, and Michonne brushes her lips over them as gently as she can, though on the inside her blood is seething.

"I hope you killed that fucker," she snarls, hands tightening around Daryl's biceps as she rides him harder, and he groans, mouth gone soft and lax as melted caramel, just as sweet when she sucks on his tongue.

"We had to, eventually," he says, the last word hitching on a moan. He props himself up on an elbow to trail kisses down her sternum, rasping like it's a cherished secret, "Only way Rick an' I could get back to you."

The tap of Michonne's heart stutters for a moment, and she has to wind her arms around Daryl, press overwhelmed kisses to his forehead, cheeks, nose, ears. There's a creak-open, creak-shut to the church room they've commandeered, but neither of them deign to see who it is, because they already know.

Rick presses against her from behind, soothes her by gently rolling her breasts in his hands. "Slow, slow," he murmurs, teeth scraping her shoulder. "No rush this time."

"Easy for you to say," Daryl croaks, face flushed underneath the tangle of his hair. Rick doesn't laugh as expected, eyes still too bleak with remembered mishaps. He chooses instead to lean down and suck at the very edge of Daryl's bruises, bringing the blood back to the surface in a sweet ache.

Daryl's shocked whimpers have Michonne grinning. "Slow," she agrees with Rick, and raises her hips from Daryl's, waits for both her boys to chase after her.


	9. stay

**an anon on tumblr prompted:**

**"I just really want a super jealous protective Rick/Daryl when Morgan realize how fucking hot Michonne is and attempts to make a move. Like, I imagine Daryl really forceful and unapologetic when he goes to him and tells him to fuck off. And Rick is sort of torn because Morgan is his friend but he has to check him, to make sure he knows Michonne is off limits unless your him or Daryl."**

**and i was all over that like a hot rash, though admittedly, this is sweeter.**

* * *

"That doesn't bother you?"

You turn from Morgan to face what he's staring at on the porch of your house. Daryl has a hand resting on the small of Michonne's back, smiling a little bit with the coarse angles of his eyes softened in the dim light. She in turn hasps a finger in his belt loop to pull him closer, smirking and casually blatant as anything.

No, it's not a bother at all. You plan on telling Morgan as much, but he chuckles and shakes his head before you can say anything. "Alright, that look on your face just told me everything. Didn't know you guys, um. Shared her."

"We share each other," you settle on, carefully neutral in tone. Daryl's already played the ruffled hellion card the day before, when Morgan got too familiar with Michonne; he doesn't need that again from you.

He smiles, rueful. "Hell of a thing, you finding them. I don't know if I'll be as lucky."

That gentles your annoyance, at least. "You deserve every happiness," you insist, then add in only a half-jesting tone, "Just not that."

Morgan laughs. "She's off limits, got it. That don't mean she can't handle herself, though."

You hope your flush isn't visible when you grin and excuse yourself from this conversation with, "That's why we love her."

It's the first time you've used that word aloud, you realize as you make your way up the steps, but that doesn't make it any less true. And in the doorway of your home with Daryl against your back and Michonne in your arms, you finally tell them.

Daryl bites at the nape of your neck with a bright _glad you finally figured that out_, and Michonne giggles. "He means 'i love you too.'" She gives you a kiss thorough enough that you feel it in your bones, and whispers. "And me."

This is everything to you, this here right now, for the rest of your life.


	10. present

**the prompt was: "Imagine Richonne going out on "runs" looking for a motorcycle for Daryl for his birthday. But he had no idea and started to feel jealous, and acted like a asshole a tad bit. And when then finally unveil it, they decide to ride around on it while he follows behind on foot apologizing. After going around the block three times they hop off, and let him enjoy his new present."**

**it can be set in the AU, after they move to DC for michonne's job, or in canon. it works either way for me, i guess.**

* * *

"Jesus," Daryl splutters once you reach the bend in the street. There are beads of sweat on his brow despite the frost sticking to his coat, his hair. "Already said I was sorry."

Rick laughs against you, his hands gently squeezing your hips when you rev up the engine of the softail Harley-Davidson you're both astride. "That you did." He lowers his voice enough that only you can hear him when he asks next, "Think you've made him suffer enough, 'Chonne?"

You look over your shoulder to give him your most withering glare before hauling your eyes back to the road. "I'm not above giving him a taste of his own medicine," you scoff. "He refused to even so much as look at me, at either of us, for _weeks_." You try to mask the hurt in your tone with haughtiness, but you don't succeed.

Daryl picks up on that, bless his heart, and he doesn't sound pissed anymore, just as miserable as you. "M'sorry, you guys. Thinkin you two were lookin for somethin for me was the last thing on my mind."

Rick blows out a shocked breath that skitters hotly across your neck. "You thought we were trying to end things with you?"

Of course Rick figures that out before you do, he's known Daryl longer, but it doesn't soften the blow any less. And Daryl paints an utterly forlorn picture, standing ankle-deep in Washington snow with his shoulders hunched up to his ears, missing you and Rick.

"Shit," you grumble, and shut down the motor in order to climb off the bike and smother Daryl in a hug. "You're such an uncommunicative dick," you choke out, and his gloved hands pet your hair uncertainly, then hug you back.

"Hey, I said plenty just now," he laughs, and beside you Rick is chuckling, "How 'bout we take this back home. The cold is killing me."

Daryl grins, tugs you and then Rick in for kisses that taste of snowflakes and nicotine. "Long as I get t'drive this time."


	11. redeem

**prompt was: "What if Dixonne and few others go on a run and shit happens and Michonne gets left behind; a big group of walkers comes and splits them up. And Daryl's the only one who makes it back, and has to break the news to teamfamily and winds up feeling really depressed/guilty and becomes a recluse. 7 months past, Glenn finds Michonne unconscious and takes her back to ASZ. She was dehydrated/ malnourished and needed to be nursed back to health, and Rick had to try and get Daryl to see her but he can't."**

**lots of dixonne h/c here**

* * *

You're out here in the woods, blinking through the cold sunlight. The climes are tougher and the foliage not entirely familiar, and it's good, it's a distraction. You don't have to think about a hand forcibly ripped from yours, a body forced beneath the shell of a car, watching her disappear in your mirror–

No. Don't think about that.

Red birds chirrup overhead like bells, the sky tiered amongst the green of the tree's reaching arms. You're so caught up in trying not to think that you don't hear the snap of twigs until you hear a hoarse "you shouldn't be out here by yourself."

You spin around to find Michonne leaning against a fir trunk, a gun at her hip. The mere fact that she's using bullets instead of her katana already tells you that she's too weakened to be doing anything about this. And so you do what you do best: turning your guilt and shame into anger.

"The fuck were you _thinkin_," you bark, and she doesn't even flinch. You don't know whether to be glad or miserable. "You coulda fuckin collapsed."

"Rick let me out. He knows what I can take. _I_ know what I can take, Daryl," Michonne says, her voice low and collected, the creeping kind of fury. You want her scream, curse your name, because you deserve it. god, but you deserve it.

But then she adds, "But I can't take you not seeing me. Two weeks I've been back here and you don't even come to see me?"

You shake your head, your heart aching like a cold cloth has been wrapped around it. "Don't need me to hold your hand."

"Damn right I don't need you. But I _wanted_ you there. I wanted you to sit by me and say everything even when you're saying nothing and to not leave Rick alone in all this trying to fix everything. I wanted you there and _you weren't there_."

The crack in Michonne's voice is worse than a physical blow, gouged bullet wounds where her eyes should be, tar-black and devastated.

"You don't–" You croak, pitiful, and you have to start again. "You don't deserve me, after what I done. You should hate me." There's a tremble in your lungs, blocking your throat. "christ, you should hate me."

Michonne sighs, and motions for you to come closer. "I don't hate you," she murmurs once you've stepped in front of her, gaze downcast. "I hate that you've driven Rick and Carl and me and everyone out of mind with worry, but I don't hate you. You made a choice, Daryl. It was either lead the herd straight to our family or leave me. You made the right choice."

There's a strange whimpering sound, and you only realize after a moment that it was you who uttered it. "I shoulda stayed with you," you cry out. "I left you for dead when I shoulda–"

"But you didn't," she insists, her hand alighting on your cheek and god, it's been so long, you lean into it before you can stop yourself. "You helped Rick look for me all these months. You never gave up. Because you love me." Her mouth quavers. "Is that still true?"

You answer her by dropping your crossbow and winding your arms around her, ghosting kisses on her lips again and again, whispering _i'm sorry i'm so sorry_, and all she says is _i love you too, okay_.

Rick is waiting at the gates with Michonne's temporary crutches, and he kisses you, hugs you both to him with a relieved sigh. "You guys feeling better?" he asks Michonne, and she grins.

"Better. So much better that I can probably take hot shower on my own now. It'll be hard for me to scrub my back, but that's just logistics."

You snort, don't bother with the flirtation. "We'll join ya," you promise her, loving how she and Rick laugh.

Home at last.


	12. orange

**prompt on tumblr was: "a super fluffy rixonne and kids, painting the rooms in their new home. could be AU or zombie"**  
**set after the events of that domestic AU i never recovered from.**

* * *

The new apartment is a little bigger, one bedroom more than they used to have: one for the kids, one for the grown-ups, and a guest room that may as well be Carl's whenever he stays over, for his adolescent privacy. But what everyone failed to notice before agreeing to buy the place was the unappealing shade of orange these rooms were painted in, not unlike Judith's pureed baby food.

Daryl grimaces at the sight, adjusting Andre's weight as the boy hangs on his back. "I may know jack shi—" he catches Rick's disproving glare and backtracks— "jack _squat_ about home design but that's hurtin my eyes."

Andre giggles and reaches to cover Daryl's eyes for him, and you have to smile despite this mild disaster. "At least we checked on this place before Moving Day," you sigh. "What should we do about it?"

Rick shrugs and kisses your forehead, only to suggest with a cheeky look on his face, "Fix this problem ourselves?"

"Paint the walls without a professional?" you say, incredulous, but you relent a little when Andre flails and babbles in excitement upon hearing the word 'paint.'

And that's how you end up buying buckets of paint, one mint green, one light blue, and one white, with Carl and Daryl splashing more of that paint on you and Rick, much to Andre's delight, but you don't regret a thing.

(There will be five handprints of varying colors on the wall next to Judith's bed, the whole family preserved for as long as you want them.)


	13. whole

**the aftermath of 6.09, i guess. i knew it was gonna happen in the comics but i didn't expect all those family feels that came after. *clutches at pearls***

* * *

Daryl doesn't even have his shirt on yet, stitches still new and stinging, when he gets up to scrub at his arms and chest so he can come near Michonne and hold her, Judith cradled between them.

"I was so scared," Michonne admits, her voice quavering, "and we didn't know if Judith was safe and if you were safe and–" She slumps with her head on Daryl's shoulder, such a vulnerable gesture that Denise and the others shuffle outside. Glenn and Maggie don't mind; they're family, they've known about this for a while, stuck in their own little bubble too.

Daryl kisses Michonne's forehead, fingers stroking Asskicker's soft hair. "Good thing i turned up with that bazooka, huh," he chuckles, and even Michonne manages a watery smile.

"You've gotta tell me how you got your hands on that sometime."

A pause, Daryl's face conflicted. Now is not the time to tell them that they might have more trouble on their hands soon. "After our boy wakes up," he promises.

Then they hear Rick gasp Carl's name, and they slip into the room, ready to face this now that they're sure their family is whole.


End file.
